


Like this winter and a sweater

by theaa



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, happy holidays!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 19:23:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9006382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theaa/pseuds/theaa
Summary: ‘Why don’t you come with me?’Jon squints at her, sure he’s misheard.‘Sorry?’‘To Winterfell. Why don’t you come with me?or; Sansa takes pity on Jon and invites him home for the holidays, but there’s one significant catch





	

**Author's Note:**

> For jonxsansafanfiction's winter challenge. The fic is still unfinished but I wanted to get something out before christmas day. Consider this part one of two.

Jon shoulders open the door to his small apartment and drops his keys into the bowl on the side, stamping the last flakes of snow sticking to his boots free onto his doormat. Outside the streets of Chicago are littered with fairy lights and big baubled christmas trees stand in the lobby of every department store in the city. The walls of Jon and Robb’s flat are bare in comparison, the only blinking light coming from the answering machine down the hall. Jon sighs and shifts his shopping to the kitchen before pressing play on the machine. Just as he expected, Lyanna Snow’s soft voice starts to spiral into the room.

‘Jon? Jon darling, are you there? Robb?… Jon if you’re in, please pick up the phone…. I guess you’re out.’ A sigh crackles down the line. ‘Jon, I just wanted to make sure you haven’t changed your mind. Your father and I would very much like to spend the holiday with you and I miss you, honey. Your father wants to see you. Please, Jon, just think about it. Give me a ring later? Ok, bye for now.’

Jon immediately moves his thumb to the delete button, his lip curling at the phrase ‘your father and I’. His mother’s recent torrid affair would have been nothing but slightly awkward, if it weren’t for the fact that after months of evading Jon’s teasing questions, Lyanna had finally admitted that the man she was dating was in fact Jon’s father. They’d ‘reconnected’, was all the explanation Lyanna gave for it. Jon was sure this second romance would be just as successful as the first - that is to say he had no faith in it whatsoever. Not that he judged his mother particularly - she had always had precisely one blind spot, and that was Rhaegar Targaryen. When twenty four years previously Rhaegar had cut and run from his pregnant girlfriend, overwhelmed by the seriousness with which a supposed fling had developed, he’d broken Lyanna’s heart. Jon had grown up with sporadic visits and mystery child support cheques and had vowed to both himself and his mother that they would get on fine without Rhaegar.

So even now that his mother has apparently made the monumentally stupid decision to let Rhaegar back into her life, that doesn’t mean he’s willing to play happy families during the holidays.

A buzz from his back pocket has him fishing for his phone. He has to scroll through more messages from his mother to get to the text from Robb. It’s a picture message - Robb and Jeyne’s faces are pressed together to fit in frame, the sky behind their heads a beautiful balmy blue, rather than Chicago’s stormy grey. Robb’s face is split into a grin, his perfect straight teeth glinting in the sunshine and next to him Jeyne smiles shyly into the camera, tucked into his side. The caption reads ‘wish you were here. or maybe not. having the best time x’

Jon snorts and slides his phone back into his pocket and goes back into the kitchen to sort through his shopping. He slides the microwave meals into the fridge and stares at them a second. They look sad and pathetic stacked up on the empty shelf, and Jon has no doubt that they’ll probably taste like cardboard, but somehow the prospect of cooking a christmas dinner for one seems even more pathetic.

It’s the 22nd December and Jon’s made sure he’s stocked up so he doesn’t have to venture outside much in the peak holiday period. He snags a beer from the fridge and slouches onto the sofa. It’s still the early evening, but he figures he’ll watch a bad made for TV christmas film, continue to dodge his mother’s calls, and then go to bed. He has the next couple of days off from the office and all his co-workers had asked excitedly about his plans. Jon gave vague answers about being able to relax finally, and cracked a rare smile. It seemed to work. In reality he has absolutely no idea how’s he going to occupy himself. Holidays, he’s forced into admitting, definitely suck if you have no one to spend them with.

He’s about twenty minutes into a saccharine movie about orphans and the gift of giving at christmas when the buzzer to his apartment makes him jump, beer sloshing out of his can. He pulls himself to his feet and ambles towards the door, expecting to find a bunch of carol singers who have wandered too far, but when he opens the door he finds Sansa on the step, bundled into a dark green winter coat, her flaming hair stuffed under a woollen beanie, a scarf wrapped around her neck. Even despite the swaddling, the tip of nose is still brushed with pink. By her feet are two suitcases, bulging with clothes.

‘Hiya,’ she breezes, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation and dragging the suitcases in after her. Jon shuffles out of her way and closes the door behind her.

‘Urhm, hi.’

Sansa busies herself with pulling off her gloves and unwinding her scarf whilst she looks around her. ‘God, it’s not very festive in here, is it?’

Jon shrugs. ‘Didn’t have time before Robb left and it seemed pointless to decorate the place just for myself.’

‘Yeah, but it’s still a bit sad, isn’t it?’ she says, tossing her coat and scarf to drape over her suitcase.

‘Thanks,’ Jon replies sarcastically.

Sansa just rolls her eyes at him and moves through to the kitchen where she flicks on the coffee machine.

‘Bit late for coffee isn’t it?’

‘Long drive ahead,’ she explains. ‘Do you know where Robb left the keys?’

‘Huh?’

Sansa levels him with an exasperated look. ‘The car keys. I’m borrowing his car to get home. He did tell you I was coming, didn’t he?’

Jon shakes his head. ‘I had no idea you were coming over. I thought you were flying home?’

‘No, not this year. Seems silly when I can drive perfectly well.’

He can’t help but stare at her in disbelief. ‘Sansa, it probably takes fourteen hours to get to Vermont from the city. You’re not seriously driving all that way on your own are you?’

Sansa pulls a mug down the the cupboard and pours out her coffee. ‘It’s okay, I mean I’ve got an  overnight stop planned and booked.’

‘Still,’ Jon protests, but Sansa just smiles at him over the rim of her mug and takes a gulp.

‘Are you worried about me, Jon Snow?’

Now it’s Jon’s turn to roll his eyes. ‘Sansa, of course I am. How on earth did Robb agree to this?’

‘Well he couldn’t say much when he was already on holiday with Jeyne. Honestly, I’ll be fine, Jon. I’ll call you when I get there or something, promise.’ Then she frowns. ‘Actually do I have your number?’

‘I don’t think so…’

‘Give it to me before I go, then.’

‘Sansa…’

‘Can you help me look for Robb’s keys, please?’ she says, ignoring his warning tone and setting down her mug.

Sansa has always been obstinate, perhaps in a different way from the way Arya’s head strong-ness, but she never could easily be persuaded out of an idea. Jon sighs and goes into Robb’s room and immediately spies the car keys on the dresser. He scoops them up and drops them into Sansa’s waiting palm.

‘Thanks.’

‘I still think this is an awful idea. What about your parents?’

Sansa shrugs. ‘They think I’m flying and catching a taxi from the airport.’

‘And when you arrive in Robb’s car?’

‘It’ll be too late,’ she says simply. Jon resists the urge to knock his head against the kitchen cabinet.

Sansa looks up at him, as if a thought has just struck her. ‘What about you?’

‘What about me?’

‘What are you doing for the holidays? Are you seeing Val at any point?’

Jon rocks back on his heels and grabs her mug from the side, dumping it into the sink, so Sansa doesn’t have to see the cloud that falls across his face at the mention of his ex-girlfriend. The thought of Val still hurt somewhat, even though they’d broken up months ago, and he’d been the one to call the thing off. Office romances never lasted and quickly became awkward for everyone involved, he reasoned. Val hadn’t put up much of a protest. Which, he supposes, is what hurt the most - her readiness to move on. For such a fearsome woman, he would have liked if she at least put up a bit of fight.

‘No,’ he says, his tone clipped. ‘We stopped seeing each other a while back.’

When he turns back around Sansa at least has the decency to look a little awkward. ‘What _are_ you doing then?’

He shrugs, full-bodied, and gestures vaguely around him. ‘Just hanging here, I guess.’

Sansa immediately frowns at him. ‘By yourself?’

‘Yeah, pretty much. Sam might pop in, but he has his family to get to. Maybe I’ll see Edd if he’s in town, but he’s in the army now and his leave’s short,’ Jon finds himself explaining, almost defending himself. Sansa’s forehead crinkles with disapproval.

‘That’s… sort of tragic.’

Jon just sighs at her, and moves back into the living room to collapse back onto the sofa. The movie is in full tilt now - a fat santa claus character is bounding across the screen, showering children with gifts. He wonders idly if the history channel will be showing anything better. Sansa follows him into the lounge and stares down at him, her nose wrinkled.

‘I hope you’re not going to watch TV for five days straight.’

‘So what if I do?’ Jon replies, and he can’t help it, his tone is most definitely sulky. He doesn’t appreciate Sansa coming over and poking into his non existent social life and calling him out on what will probably, yes, be the most tragic holiday he’s spent so far.

‘You should take a trip somewhere….’ Sansa stands behind the back of the couch, waving her hand in the air, trying to think of suggestions for things with which to occupy his time. Trying to micromanage his life, like she does everything else, more like.

‘Where?’ Jon asks, half to entertain her to get her to stop prying; half to purposefully poke holes in her plan.’

‘I don’t know!’ she exclaims, frustrated. ‘Get out of this apartment, anyway!’

‘I’m quite comfortable here, thanks.’

Sansa huffs out a breath at him. ‘Robb said you’d been avoiding your Mom’s calls.’

Jon’s eyes narrow. ‘Oh, Robb did, did he?’ he repeats, his tone sharp.

‘Don’t get angry, he was only concerned about you. Is that why you’re not seeing your Mom?’

‘Sansa, can we drop it?’

‘No, Jon.’ She struggles for a moment, her face twisted with a frown as she tries to express herself.  ‘It’s just, holidays shouldn’t be spent alone. That’s what I think.’

‘Sansa, please, I’ll be fine.’

‘You’re a grown man, of course you will be. That’s not my point.’

Jon gives up listening, picking up the remote to idly flick through the channels. It’s not that he’s not grateful for Sansa’s concern, but he also doesn’t know what to do with it. Her worry for him isn’t going to change anything, and he feels like she’s just trying to placate a guilty conscious for leaving him behind. Or boss him around. Which is all very well, but it makes him feel awkward, and even more listless about the thought of Christmas alone. In short, it doesn’t help matters.

A minute later the remote is being slipped out of his hand and the TV goes on mute. Sansa stands between him and the screen, her woollen skirt and thick black tights obscuring the fuzzy picture behind her. Jon looks back up to her face, mildly exasperated.

‘What?’

‘Why don’t you come with me?’

Jon squints at her, sure he’s misheard.

‘Sorry?’

‘To Winterfell. Why don’t you come with me? See Dad and even Mom again. Bran and Arya too. You used to spend loads of time round our house when you and Robb were kids up to teenagers.’

‘Used to,’ Jon points out. ‘I haven’t seen your parents in years. Not properly anyway, other than when they visit Robb. Sansa, what are you talking about? I can’t just arrive at your house for the holidays.’

‘Yes you can!’ Sansa argues, the colour high on her cheeks now. ‘Dad always asks after you, you know. Asks Robb how you’re doing and asks me if I’ve seen you. And Arya. She misses you, now that you live in the city.’

‘I don’t—‘ he starts to protest, but Sansa cuts him off.

‘And if you come, I won’t be driving alone.’

Jon’s mouth snaps shut and he narrows his eyes at her. Sansa stands before him, meeting his gaze, her head held high.  

‘You’re sure about this?’

‘Yes,’ she replies firmly.

‘You realise it’s a long drive, don’t you?’

‘Yes Jon, I do.’

‘And I’ll be there the whole time?’

‘Yes, Jon.’

Jon blinks at her ready answers, his mind still reeling a little from the sudden offer. Sansa and he always rubbed a little awkwardly as kids. Sansa was the closest in age to him of Robb’s siblings, always a few years younger, and always convinced that whatever Robb and he were doing was uncool. Sansa as a teenager adopted a high and mighty attitude and was very popular in school whereas Jon coasted along, a social neutral constantly in the Starks’ shadow.

When Sansa moved to Chicago to be closer to Robb and find work, he saw a lot more of her again. Adult Sansa was just as bossy and just as popular. The years had mellowed her out and made her drop her teenage attitude, but she was still a little foreign to Jon, and he was never quite sure how to act around her. Normally they just ended up petty squabbling with each other if left alone for any long period of time. Robb despaired of them both.

Which is why driving thirteen hours and then spending the whole holiday with her family, even if he could see Ned and Arya and Bran again, sounded like a ill-advised idea. But still, this way he can make sure she makes the drive safe, and avoid a dull, dreary and slightly desperate holiday alone. The weighing scales in his mind overbalance to one side.

‘Alright,’ he finds himself saying. ‘When do we leave?’

For a second Sansa doesn’t seem to register his agreement, but then she smiles at him, a pleased-with-herself kind of smile, and settles her hands on her hips. ‘Now. You need to start packing.’

xxx

Sansa waits by the front door while Jon lugs a hurriedly packed duffel bag out of his room. He sets the bag down at her feet next to her suitcases and looks at her, one eyebrow raised.

‘Right, I think I’m ready.’

She hums at him, suddenly nervous about the whole plan, and more specifically about the plan she’s been putting together since nearly the second after she invited Jon to come. She glances at their combined baggage, and back up at him.

Jon seems to take her non-reply as encouragement and leans over to open the front door. Sansa slides in front of it to stop him and Jon’s hand freezes in mid-air.

‘You’re not having second thoughts are you?’ he asks, his tone full of concern, and a little resignation.

Sansa runs her tongue along her dry lips and bites down, trying to figure out how to start.

‘No.’

He visibly brightens again. ’Alright, shall I put the bags in the car then?’

‘No.’

Jon looks at her like she’s gone stupid, which is indeed probably how it appears.

‘It’s just-’  she smooths down the wool fabric of her skirt with hesitant, twitchy hands, ‘- I’d sort of like a favour in return.’

Jon’s brow furrows. ‘You want me to drive? ‘Cause of course I’ll drive-‘

‘No, no. I, uh, I want - I want you to be my boyfriend.’

When she says it out loud, it sounds ridiculous. Utterly immature and completely out of the question, of course. Sansa cringes even as she says it, and Jon’s hand drops with a thud back to his side.

‘You want me to _what_?’

‘Be my pretend boyfriend?’ she repeats meekly.

Jon splutters for a second before just shaking his head. ‘Why on earth would you want that?’

‘You remember the Baratheons right? The family next door to us? Do you remember Joffrey?’

He nods slowly. ‘Yeah, of course. He and Arya fought all the time, I seem to recall.’

‘Yeah, well, uhm, we dated, and uh, well it didn’t end well and it’s awkward as hell. Actually, he’s sort of a dick, but Mom and Mr Baratheon have this idea that we’re meant for each other or something, and they’re awful about it, and they keep on hinting that we’ll get back together at some point. Anyway, they spend the whole christmas over our house, and I’m just sick of it. I can’t have another argument about it with my Mom _again_ this year. I can’t.’

‘And you want me to… what? Be your fake boyfriend to get them off your back? This is your scheme?’

Sansa sort of resents it being labelled a ‘scheme’ as there’s nothing inherently bad about the plan, but she doesn’t want to deter Jon in any way, so she just nods. ‘Basically.’

Jon drags a hand down his face. ‘You’re something else, Sansa,’ he laughs weakly.

‘Is that a no?’

He stays silent for a second and looks at her. ‘If I did say no, would you still let me come?’

Sansa bites her lip and darts her eyes away. Jon laughs again, the sound hollow.

‘I’m taking that as a no.’

‘I’d prefer it if you did, is all. So you don’t want to?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘What _are_ you saying Jon?’ she snaps, irritated by his lack of response, although she knows she has no right to be. She’s asking a lot.

‘Do you realise how hard this is going to be? I can’t just waltz in and talk to your parents and be like _oh yeah Sansa and I are together now_. They know me - they know us!’ Jon snaps back.

Sansa throws up her hands. ‘Things change! I’m not who I was when I was eleven, Jon. God, and haven’t you ever heard the saying opposites attract?’

He continues to look at her with doubt scrawled across his face, but finally, after nearly a minute of silence that feels like a showdown of some kind, he nods. ‘Fine. I’ll do it.’

Sansa’s irritation immediately melts away and she finds herself beaming at him. ‘Thank you Jon. I promise we’ll have a good time.’

He just shrugs and picks up his duffel bag and one of the suitcases and motions towards the door. Sansa scrambles to open it, and Jon hauls the luggage through and over to the elevator opposite. They wait for the lift to arrive from the bottom floor in tense silence and Sansa starts to regret the whole thing. If this is how Jon’s going to act then they might as well stay home - no one will ever believe them. The ding of the lift arriving interrupts her thoughts and they shuffle inside.

‘I’m only agreeing for your Mom’s cooking,’ he mumbles when Sansa reaches over to hit the button to go down.

Sansa’s lips quirk upwards. ‘Her christmas lunches _are_ the stuff of legends. I mean, I get it. I’d probably fake a relationship to get some of my Mom’s cranberry sauce too.’

Jon gives a short laugh. ‘I better get three helpings now.’

‘I’ll make sure of it,’ she promises solemnly. She’s afforded a small grin in return.

xxx

The first hour of the drive passes almost quickly. Sansa has the Sat Nav set up on the dash, and although Jon interrupts it several times to question the route it’s taking them, Sansa shushes him every time, and so far it hasn’t lead them astray. Out of Chicago and on the highway the driving is easy and Robb’s old car trundles along, turning the streetlamps into an orange blur in the dark outside the car windows. In the passenger seat Jon flips through the CDs in her glove compartment and winces at the selection, finally settling on the radio buzzing in the background. Sansa rolls her eyes but says nothing.

Jon fills the time by making small talk, asking about her work at the fashion magazine in the city, and Sansa tells him about the column she’s been given and the new angle the magazine’s going for, trying to appeal to younger women. Jon nods along and hums like he’s thinking about what she’s said when she stops for breath. She can tell he doesn’t have a clue what she’s talking about, but it’s nice that he asks and lets her explain.

It’s around hour three after they stop at a service station to grab chocolate and a soda each that Sansa realises she really hasn’t thought everything through. Like at all.

She’s sipping at her coca-cola can, one hand firmly on the wheel as they cruise up the highway, idly thinking of seeing Rickon again and the stocked fridge that awaits them, when the sound of Jon slurping at his own drink comes to an abrupt halt.

‘Sansa, what are we going to tell everybody?’

‘Huh?’

‘What are we gonna tell your parents? And the Baratheons?’

‘What do you mean? We’ll tell them we’re dating, obviously.’

‘No, I mean, there has to be a story, doesn’t there? Of how we got together. Why you haven’t told them.’

‘Oh.’ Sansa slots her can into the holder. ‘Yeah, probably.’

Jon takes a gulp of his drink. ‘Ok, so how’d we, you know…’

‘Well,’ Sansa starts, ‘you’re Robb’s flatmate.’

‘Obviously.’

‘And, uhm, I - or should it be you? Which is more believable?’

‘You. It should definitely be you,’ Jon says quickly.

‘Hey, why does it have to be me?’

‘Because,’ Jon says firmly, ‘it’s against bro-code. It’s like unwritten law. Thou shalt not date or sleep with thy best friend’s sister. So it’d only happen if you made the first move.’

Sansa scoffs loudly. ‘That’s so silly. Robb’s not the boss of you. Or me, for that matter.’

‘No, but it makes things awkward, and I think it makes more sense if you instigate it.’

‘Fine,’ she huffs. ‘So I what, ask you out?’

Jon cocks his head to the side, thinking. ’How about Robb was home late one evening and you popped round to see him but you stayed and instead you spent the evening with me? We were both surprised that we liked spending time with each other, and we sort of went from there? Then it’s mutual.’

‘Alright,’ Sansa agrees. ‘Did we sleep together or something?’

Jon chokes on his drink. ‘No! I’m a gentleman!’

‘Okay,’ Sansa laughs. ‘We were just hanging out, everything PG. Got it.’

Jon reconsiders. ’Maybe I kissed you. At the end of the night. Too much wine.’

‘Right. We kissed. And?’

Jon flushes, his cheeks tinged pink, and Sansa can feel her own cheeks heating up to match. She’s finding it way too easy to picture everything Jon’s describing.

‘And… we discovered we wanted to keep on doing that. So we did. The next time Robb was out I called you and you came over.’

‘And we kissed some more,’ Sansa supplies, half laughing, half not.

‘Yeah.’ Jon’s voice is cracked and awkward.

There’s a beat of silence that seems to swell and fill the car. The radio drones on in the background, and Sansa wonders if Jon is imaging it like she is. Eventually rational thought takes over again.

‘So, when did this happen? How long have we been together?’

Jon blinks. ‘Uh, well it has to be serious enough that you’re taking me home at the holidays.’

‘How long does that usually take?’ She glances at Jon sideways, who throws up a hand.

‘I don’t know, I never met Ygritte’s parents and I wasn’t with Val long enough.’

‘Alright. Let’s say four months?’

‘Four months,’ Jon nods. ‘And we’ve been hiding it because of Robb. And your Mom.’

‘My Mom?’

‘I love her cooking, but I’m scared stiff of your Mom, Sansa.’

Sansa frowns at him. ‘Why?’

‘She just - I don’t think she loved me being around so much when we were younger. I think she thought I was a bad influence on Robb or something. And you know Robb went to college and I didn’t. She disapproves,’ Jon says, eyes trained out the passenger seat window.

‘It was usually Robb influencing you, if I remember rightly. And so what? You’ve got a great job now.’

‘Yeah, _now_ I do. It was looking sketchy for a while, though. Anyway, I don’t think I’m your Mom’s favourite and she’s probably not going to be thrilled at your little plan, to be honest.’

Sansa can’t help but sigh. ‘Well, you’re special to Robb and now you’re special to me too, and she’ll understand that. You’ll be fine Jon, I promise.’

Jon cracks a small smile and goes back to staring out the window.

xxx

‘Jon. Jon, wake up. We’re at the hotel.’

A small shake of his shoulder drags Jon from the nap he’d been taking, where his head has been lolling against the frosty car window. Rubbing at his cold cheek he straightens up and blearily opens his eyes. Outside there’s a small dusting of snow drifting down, but it melts on contact with the concrete parking lot almost instantaneously. The hotel in front of them is gaudy, lit up by neon lights and there’s a huge fake christmas tree outside the entrance which looks like it’s on the verge of toppling over.

Beside him Sansa picks up her gloves and jams the grey bobbly beanie over her scarlet hair.

‘Where are we?’ he asks groggily.

‘Ohio somewhere. Come on.’

As soon as Sansa opens the car door the cold rushes in, feeling like needles on his exposed skin, and Jon zips up the black hoodie he’s wearing up to his chin hurriedly, fully awake now, and grabs his coat and duffel from the back, and one of Sansa’s suitcases.

Inside the hotel, even though it’s gone midnight, there’s an employee at the desk wearing a garland of garish silver tinsel and one of the most horrendous christmas jumpers Jon thinks he’s ever seen. She smiles brightly as they approach.

“Hi, I have a room booked for tonight. Under the name Stark.’

The woman types in Sansa’s name dutifully, but her smile dies when she glances from Sansa and Jon and back.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says, lips settling into a thin line. ‘You only booked for one person I’m afraid.’

Jon watches warily as Sansa gives the woman a polite smile. ‘Yes, but I only booked the one room. Is there some way my friend can join me? I booked a twin bed room.’

The woman shakes her head, hard enough that the tinsel halo slips few degrees out of place. ‘No, I’m afraid not. You’ll have to upgrade.’ From behind, Jon can see the set of Sansa’s shoulders tighten and she leans further over the bright plastic desk.

‘Look-‘

‘Sansa, it’s fine,’ he starts to say, ‘I’ll just sleep in the car or something.’

Sansa shoots a look over her shoulder. ‘Don’t be ridiculous Jon, it’s freezing out there.’ Then turning back towards the desk, ’There’s already two beds in the room. Surely my friend can just take one of them?’

‘Sorry,’ the woman drawls, ‘it’s against policy. You’ll have to upgrade.’

For a couple of seconds all he can see is the back of Sansa’s head as she presumably tries to stare down the employee, but eventually Sansa heaves a sigh.

‘Fine. How much is an upgrade?’

‘Well we’d have to book you into another room—‘ she clacks away the keyboard for a second, and Jon hears Sansa grumble at the price that pops up.

‘ _Fine,’_ she grits out.

 _‘_ Sansa—‘ Jon steps forward, fishing in his pocket for his wallet. Sansa waves him away.

The woman hands Sansa a key over the counter with a flourish and a bland smile once the payment goes through. ‘Number 334, up the stairs to your right.’

‘Thank you,’ Sansa replies curtly, turning back to walk towards Jon and her bag.

‘It’s a double. We were all out of twins, I’m afraid.’

xxx

Jon smooths a hand over the top sheet of the _rather small_ double bed and listens as Sansa moves around in the tiny cubicle of an ensuite bathroom next door. There’s the clink of plastic bottles and toiletries and the sudden hammering of the shower being turned on. He doesn’t hold out much hope for the heat of the water because in about five minutes the sound shutters off. There’s some more rummaging and then Sansa emerges, face scrubbed clear of all make-up, red hair dripping onto a thick flannel pyjama top.

She grimaces as she steps out. ‘I think I used up the last of the hot water or something. Sorry.’

‘It’s fine, don’t worry.’

She’s completely right - the water is beyond frigid and Jon wastes no time before scrambling out and struggling into the thin shirt and sweats he bought to sleep in. When he gets back into the room Sansa is propped up in bed, fiddling with her phone, frowning at it.

Jon crosses over and folds his clothes neatly back into his bag, keeping a half eye on Sansa. He stalls, folding and refolding his jumper, trying to gauge what Sansa’s reaction might be if he just climbs in his half of the bed, or whether he should ask first. She appears completely engrossed in her screen so in the end Jon just abandons his jumper and pulls the sheets back. Sansa hardly looks up, so he guesses he’s okay, and grateful he won’t have to make some chivalrous offer to sleep on the floor and freeze overnight, he climbs in quickly.

The sheets are cold and Jon wriggles his toes against the rough cotton, only stopping when he hears Sansa heave a sigh. He’s just about to apologise when he’s interrupted by Sansa shoving her phone into his lap.

‘Look at that! What am I supposed to reply to that?’

Jon peers down at the screen and the message thread Sansa’s trying to show him. It’s from her friend Margaery.

_Heard you skipped town with one Mister Jon Snow today! Why didn’t you tell me babe? Have fun at home honey, and give me a call if Vermont freezes over. I’m sure I can fly you to the Caribbean with me, although perhaps Jon can keep you warm instead? ;) xxxx_

He can feel his eyebrows rising into his hairline as he reads Margery’s text, and when he’s done he hands back Sansa her phone with a bemused face.

‘How does she even know I’m with you?’

Sansa puffs out an exasperated breath and shrugs. ‘I don’t know - she just always _knows_. Maybe someone saw us packing up the car?’

‘I don’t know - are you sure she doesn’t have cameras on you or something?’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ Sansa dismisses, already staring back at the message. ‘What am I meant to reply? If I tell her the truth she’s only going to think I’m being coy. Why does everyone jump to conclusions? Just because I’m taking you home! You’re a family friend, as if I would go there really!’

Jon’s lips twitch at her little rant. ‘I’m an _old_ family friend,’ he points out ‘and I don’t know, I don’t think you can complain about forced romance when you’re literally asking me to be your fake boyfriend.’

Sansa levels him with a non-impressed glare. ‘Okay, but what am I meant to reply?’

Jon shrugs and wiggles his feet against the sheets again, trying to use the friction to guide some warmth into his skin. Sansa purses her lips, but says nothing.

‘I don’t know,’ he says finally. ‘Maybe just go along with it? Practice your lies.’

He hears her hum and then the sound of the keyboard, then the whoosh of the sent notification. She sets the phone down on the nightstand and clicks off the light, the room plunging into darkness. He feels her shuffle down into a sleeping position, and although there’s several inches between them he swears he can feel the warmth of her body radiating towards him.

‘What did you reply?’ he asks, after a few seconds of silence.

There’s a giggle in the dark. ‘I said you’d be plenty good at keeping me warm, but maybe I’d need that trip to the Caribbean afterwards, to relax a bit.’

Jon splutters out a  surprised laugh and he can feel the bed shaking with Sansa’s own laughter. He’s grateful that Sansa can’t see the red heat that touches his cheeks.

‘Well, that should send her imagination wild.’

‘Oh I’m sure it will,’ Sansa sniggers. ‘Good night Jon.’

‘Night Sansa.’

xxx

Jon wakes to find that he can’t breathe. Wisps of fine red hair are covering his mouth and obstructing his airways. Choking slightly, he wafts them away. Sansa is curled up like a cat next to him, knees balled up to her chest, hair splaying out around her like a halo. In sleep she’s moved closer to him, and her head on the pillow is inches away from his. Her closed eyelids are a dusky pink and he spends a few seconds inspecting her thick red eyelashes, used to seeing them coated in a layer of mascara instead. His eyes travel down, to her lips, pale and slightly chapped, but full and bow shaped. Her breath is warm and the cocoon under the covers they’ve created is warmer still, and the whole combination destroys any inclination he has to get out of bed. He allows himself a few more seconds, but aware that things could easily get awkward if Sansa were to wake up, he drags himself to the bathroom.

When he comes back the earlier peace is shattered. Sansa, already fully dressed, is glaring at him. Even the bobble hat is jammed back onto her head.

‘It’s gone eight, why didn’t you wake me?’ she snaps.

Jon drops his toothbrush into his bag slowly. He much preferred it when she was sleeping.

‘Why are you worried? We’ll get there by the evening.’

Sansa makes a little tsk-ing noise in the back of her throat, as if he’s missing the point. ‘I wanted to get going early, in case we get held up, or something.’

Jon zips up his band and turns to face her, forcing himself to smile good-naturedly at her. ‘Relax Sansa. You finish up here and I’ll check us out, ok? I’ll meet you in the car.’

She frowns at him a bit, but eventually nods. Jon hauls his bag onto his shoulder and grabs one of her suitcases, but pauses by the door.

‘Uhm, I’ll need the car keys.’

‘Oh. Of course.’

She scoops them off the side and tosses them to him, impressed when Jon catches them deftly in his left hand.

‘Alright, see you in a minute,’ she says, her tone much warmer than before. Jon considers the crisis diverted and heads out to the reception desk, where there’s thankfully a different woman now, although the irritating christmas headgear, now a elf hat, is disappointingly still intact.

xxx

When Sansa reaches Robb’s car, Jon is sat in the driving seat. She opens her mouth to protest, but doesn’t get the chance to.

‘Before you say anything, could we skip the argument? You drove yesterday. It’s my turn.’

‘You’re not insured,’ she points out. ‘It’s not your car.’

To her surprise, Jon shrugs. She always thought he was somewhat of a stickler for rules, but apparently she’d been wrong. Maybe his chivalry outweighed his need to stick to legal limits. What an odd set of priorities.

‘So? Who’s gonna pull us over? We’re travelling backroads, and we’ll switch in a couple of hours. Get in, Sansa.’

She’s not feeling properly awake yet really, thanks to Jon letting her sleep in, so in the end she crosses back to the passenger seat and climbs in.

‘You don’t know where you’re going,’ she mumbles, even though she’s already buckling herself up.

‘I think that’s where the Sat Nav comes in,’ Jon replies dryly. So Sansa shuts up and lets him drive.

Sansa watches the bleak winter countryside blur past the car windows. She tries to switch the radio on a few times, but due to the time of the year the stations are playing a relentless tirade of christmas hits, and Jon can’t bear it. Sansa sticks out her tongue at him and calls him a scrooge, but turns it off anyway each time he complains.

They get more gas and stock up on chips and coffee at at 7/11 in a small town, and Sansa buys up a stack of the christmas chocolate reindeer. She carries them back to the car cradled in her arms and Jon smirks at her until she tells him haughtily they’re for her family. Jon counts seven of them as she drops them on the back seat.

‘Bought one for yourself to munch on the road?’

‘No, actually. The last one’s for you.’

Jon’s smirk dies and he blinks at her. ‘Oh. Thank you, then.’

Sansa gives him a small smile, which she thinks she catches him returning as he leans down to turn the key in the ignition.

They press on, and the hours slide away, as do the miles. Sansa switches back to the drivers seat, and she’s in the middle of imagining her reunion with Rickon, how pleased he’ll be with his reindeer, when Jon pipes up beside her.

‘Are you sure this is going to believable?’

They’re about an hour away from home, and while Sansa’s excitement is growing, she can feel Jon getting increasingly restless.

‘I don’t see why not. They’re hardly going to assume we’re lying are they? We just have to act it up a bit. Not overly much, we’re in front of my parents after all. We’ll be fine.’

Jon hums in the back of his throat, sounding unsure, and Sansa sighs and grips the steering wheel tighter.

‘We’ve got our story all planned out. Is there anything we’ve missed?’

‘Pet names?’

She giggles. ‘Pet names? Like nicknames?’

‘Like what do I call you? Is there anything you want to veto?’

Sansa wrinkles her nose, remembering Joffrey’s terms of endearment for her, although how endearing they were really meant to be she’s now not sure.

‘No babe, or babes,’ she says firmly. ‘And absolutely no babygirl.’

Jon snorts. ‘Babygirl? Please tell me no-one has ever called you that.’

‘No, thankfully. But I’m not about to let anyone start.’

‘Right, noted.’

‘I can’t decide my own pet name though, can I?’ Sansa says, switching lanes to over-take a slow moving car. ‘It has to be up to you.’

Jon’s silent for a couple of seconds. ‘I usually just call my girlfriends ‘love’.’

Sansa swallows and stares at the road ahead. ‘Right,’ she says, her voice purposefully bright and breezy. ‘’Love’ it is then.’

Up until this point she hasn’t really thought properly about what she’s asking Jon to do, other than throw an arm around her shoulder, fend off Joffrey’s creepy looks and her Mum’s questions, and then go home again. But she remembers Jon’s break-up with Val and realises that maybe she’s forcing him into a little bit of an emotional battleground too.  

xxx

Jon had forgotten how big the Stark family house was. Sansa drives them up the winding private road and the house looms up in the dusk, a string of fairy lights in the trees leading the way. Sansa parks in the big empty space out front and climbs out. Jon considers just staying in the car, but eventually Sansa taps on his window. Her smile is soft and understanding, so much so that it knocks him off guard and he finds himself clambering out and helping with the bags, even though his gut is telling him resolutely to not to. As they’re stood on the doorstep, Jon rocking back anxiously on his heels, Sansa snakes a hand back to squeeze his. Her slim fingers are cool to the touch, but he hangs on to them gratefully.

‘Just relax,’ she whispers, just as the big oak front door with the pretty holly wreath swings open.

Catelyn Stark, as immaculately dressed as he remembers her, beams at the sight of her eldest daughter.

‘Sansa! What are you doing here! I thought your flight didn’t get in till later?’

Sansa allows herself to be enveloped into a tight hug, before pulling back slightly and stepping back down to where Jon’s still hovering on the front step.

‘Mom, I’ve bought Jon with me for the holidays. You don’t mind do you?’

As if she’s just noticing the man stood behind her daughter Catelyn blinks and breaks into a somewhat confused smile. ‘Oh, hello, Jon. No of course not.’ Her mouth opens and shuts for a second. ’Is Robb coming, then? I thought he was with Jeyne for christmas….’

She glances at Sansa as if looking for an answer, and Jon looks at her too, hesitant to answer himself. Sansa shakes her head.

‘No Mom, Robb’s not coming. It’s just Jon and I. We drove down together.’

Catelyn gasps. ‘You drove down? Sansa that’s a thirteen hour trip in the middle of winter!’

‘It’s okay, we stopped somewhere overnight.’ She laughs. ‘Can we come in now?’

Sansa steps inside and Catelyn backs away from the door obediently. Jon follows her, immediately enveloped into the warmth of the house. The hallway is strung with little fairy lights and there’s the faint hint of cinnamon in the air, somehow. Jon stamps off the frost on his boots on the mat and leans in to press a quick kiss to Catelyn’s cheek, cold and dusted with powder.

‘Thank you so much for having me, Mrs Stark,’ he says politely.

Catelyn nods at him rather formally and then rounds on Sansa again, shutting the front door with a firm click. ‘What do you mean you stayed over night?’

Sansa just shrugs. ‘We rented a room.’

Catelyn’s eyes slide from Jon to Sansa and back again. ‘Together?’

Jon shrinks back against the hallway, toeing off his shoes and staring resolutely at the wood flooring. He’d let Sansa get this one. After all, it was her idea.

But before she can answer there’s a shout from the bottom of the stairs, in Mr Stark’s booming jovial voice.

‘Jon? Is that you? What the hell are you doing here? You haven’t bought my son with you have you?’

Grinning, Eddard Stark hardly breaks his stride down the hallway before he’s pulling Jon into a strong one armed hug and thumping him firmly on the back.

Jon can’t help but smile back at him. ‘It’s good to see you, Mr Stark. I’m afraid Robb isn’t with me, no.’

‘Just your eldest daughter,’ Sansa pipes up drily. Eddard reaches over and ruffles her hair.

‘Sansa, darling, it’s good to see you. Did you two arrive together?’

Catelyn sniffs delicately. ‘They drove all the way here, Ned.’

Eddard moves over to his wife and drops a kiss to her hair. ‘And they got here fine, Cat. And we’re glad to see them.’ He smiles at Jon again. ‘What a surprise! Are you staying, son?’

‘Uhmmm-‘

Sansa coughs and parks her suitcases against the wall, reaching for Jon’s duffel bag to balance on top of them, which Jon hands over silently, watching her carefully.

‘Actually, Dad, can we go in the kitchen a second?’ she says slowly.

Sansa’s parents dutifully file through into the large kitchen. Ned leans against a cabinet, his arms folded, a bemused look on his face, whilst Catelyn stands primly by his side. Jon hovers by the gleaming breakfast bar unsure what to do with himself, until he feels Sansa slip an arm around his middle, her hand resting just above his belt, warm against his hip. Catelyn’s eyes go wide, and Jon swallows thickly.

‘I, uh, hope you don’t mind Jon’s surprise visit. I invited him back home for the holidays. We’re, uh - we’re dating.’

Ned coughs, and Jon has the sneaking suspicion he’s trying to cover a laugh, but Catelyn physically squeaks.

‘Dating?’

‘We’re together,’ Sansa says, more firmly this time.

Jon’s hands feel useless hanging by his side, so her curls one around Sansa’s thin waist too, trying to present an united front. He thinks now is probably the time he’s expected to say something.

‘Mr and Mrs Stark, I, uh, I mean, Sansa and I, we —‘

Beside him Sansa rolls her eyes. ‘We’re _happy_. I know it’s unexpected, and Jon’s not someone you ever thought of for me, but Jon’s an old friend, to all of us. I hope you’ll make him feel welcome.’

Ned pushes himself off the counter and gathers both of them in a hug, chuckling freely now. ‘Oh sweetheart, of course we will. Jon’s already one of the family. I can’t say I ever foresaw this but it makes me very happy, very happy indeed.’

Jon closes his eyes as Ned hugs them, crushed between Sansa’s warm body and Ned’s strong arms. He swallows thickly - Ned’s warm acceptance has made him strangely emotional, and suddenly just agreeing to Sansa’s wild plan to save himself from loneliness seems a million miles away from deceiving people he genuinely loves, and who love him back.

‘Thank you,’ he murmurs, when Ned finally lets them go.

Catelyn’s shoulders are tight, but she smiles at them and brushes her hands on the apron tied round her front. ‘Well, I’m afraid I’ve only set up Sansa’s room. I can go ready one of the guest rooms, if you like —‘

‘No, Mom, it’s okay. Jon and I are fine in my room.’

‘Well, if you’re sure…’

‘It’s fine, Mrs Stark. Thank you for offering, especially as you didn’t know I was coming.’

Catelyn’s pursed lips relax into a small smile, one that Jon finally thinks is genuine. ‘It’ll be nice to have the house full again,’ she says.

Ned moves towards the hallway again. ‘Come on, I’ll help with your bags.’

xxx

Jon had never been allowed in Sansa’s room when he was younger, afforded only glances of the baby blue walls and thick cream bedspread when Sansa accidentally left her door ajar. Now he watches Sansa move methodically around the room, opening drawers and jewellery boxes and piling presents on the small desk in the corner. Jon unzips his meagre bag and takes out the one nice dress shirt he’d remembered to bring with him and holds it up.

‘Is there anywhere I can hang this?’

‘Sure, just put it in the closet with my stuff.’

The walk in closet is still rammed with clothes. Jon slides in his shirt and then pauses at the door, the surface of which is plastered with cut out posters of old teenage gossip magazines. Jon spots Leonardo DiCaprio, Jesse McCartney and several members of ’N Sync (but predominantly Justin Timberlake) among countless others. He starts laughing, and Sansa rushes over from where she’s been arranging her jumpers.

‘Oh my God, I’d totally forgotten about those.’

‘I’m not sure we’re gonna convince anyone - looking at these you definitely have a type, and I’m definitely not it. I’ve never seen so much floppy blonde hair.’

Sansa giggles, but elbows him in the side. ‘Shut up. I was fourteen when I put those up.’

‘And you kept them?’

She shrugs. ‘It sort of became a nostalgia thing. And I still totally loved the blonde hair,’ she says, reaching to tug at one of his own dark curls. ‘It’s a shame.’

Jon closes the wardrobe door and Sansa goes back to her jumpers, still smiling. For a moment he sits and watches her.

‘So, your Mom’s not a fan of me. Still.’

Sans’a hands pause in folding and she sighs. ‘I told you this thing with Joffrey was bad. I think she thinks I’m still rebelling, or something.’

Jon raises an eyebrow. ‘You rebelled?’

‘Moving to Chicago and dumping Joffrey was me rebelling. Deep down I think Mom gets it, but I think she’s just worried I won’t be comfortable, or that I’ll never settle down, or worse that I will but it’ll be in Chicago and she’ll never see me. Hence, the Joffrey thing still. She thinks it’s still got a chance.’

‘So I’m definitely not going to be her favourite person, am I? I’m fighting a losing battle here.’

Sansa gives him a sad smile. ‘Maybe.’

Jon collapses back against the bed. ‘Excellent. My girlfriend’s mother is pre-disposed to hate me.’

‘Hate’s a strong word.’

‘Is it?’

Sansa laughs. ’Now you’re just being dramatic.’

Jon goes to respond, something sarcastic, but is cut off by a surprise pillow to the face that assails him from the right where Sansa is stood at her dresser. It hits him _thwack_ , straight in the mouth, stunning him into silence, comeback forgotten. For a second Sansa looks a little horrified about what she’s done and almost goes to apologise, until Jon grabs the pillow he’s lying on, bigger and floppier than Sansa’s throw cushion, and launches it back. It collides with Sansa’s head, making her gasp loudly. Her neat ponytail is knocked out of place and Jon can’t help himself grinning.

‘What, you can give and not take? I don’t think so….’

Sansa backs away from the bed, hands up in surrender. ‘Jon, don’t you dare throw another one!’ Jon rolls his eyes but makes a show of leaving the rest of the pillows where they are, stretching back onto the bed as he was before.

‘Alright, alright,’ he says, ‘no more talk of your Mom.’

Sansa comes back to perch on the end of the bed again. ‘Good. Thank you.’

Jon can’t help himself from sighing though, and he pushes himself back up into sitting position on the bed. ‘So, who else have I got to face later?’

‘You make it sound like you’re walking to the gallows, Jon, for goodness sake.’ She shifts on the bed so she’s lying next to him, hands crossed on her stomach, squinting up at the ceiling as she lists off the guests. ‘It’s just the family tonight. It’s tomorrow’s Christmas Eve dinner you’ve got to worry about. Let’s see, there’ll be Mom and Dad, me and you, Arya and her new boyfriend Gendry - who actually I’ve heard from Robb that Mom doesn’t particularly like either, so you’ll have an ally - Bran and Rickon, of course. Then there’s Robert and Cersei and Joffrey and Myrcella and Tommen. But that’s it, I think. Unless anyone else turns up as a surprise.’

It’s sort of relieving that he doesn’t have to face the whole group until tomorrow. ’Maybe Bran has a surprise boyfriend?’

Sansa snorts. ‘He’s fifteen. I hope not. Mom and Dad are obviously fine with it all, but if I wasn’t allowed a boyfriend until I was 16, Bran’s not getting away with it just because he’s gay.’

‘Poor kid, cockblocked by his own family,’ Jon smiles. ‘When should we start washing up for tonight’s dinner, by the way?’

Sansa’s eyes flick towards the little gilded carriage clock on her dresser. Small and delicate and pretty, like everything else in Sansa’s bedroom, Jon notes. He really couldn’t imagine Sansa’s room being anything different.

‘We’ve probably got like an hour until then.’

‘Should we go downstairs?’

She pulls a face. ‘Nah, Mom and Dad won’t be expecting us. Besides, Rickon and Bran’ll be in their rooms. Arya’s arriving tomorrow, so things kick off properly then.’

Jon swallows nervously at the sound of ‘kick off’. Sansa seems to notice, because she turns her head on the pillow to look at him. ‘Jon, like I said in the car - relax. It’ll be fine.’

‘What if we get cross-examined?’

‘Do you cross examine every couple you come across?’ Sansa asks amusedly.

‘No, but they’re not usually distant childhood friends who until recently didn’t really have a relationship, thus making the fact that they’re now apparently dating and have been for months, a little hard to believe.’

‘Has anyone ever told you that you over-think things?’

‘Multiple times, thank you.’

‘Good, just checking.’

They lapse into silence again. Jon can hear someone moving downstairs. It’s so odd being in the Stark’s home again. Every room is familiar to him - except the one he’s currently in. Sansa’s left her door ajar and down the hall he can see Robb’s room, the sign he helped decorate still in place and tacked to the door. The stairs to the left that he used to run up after soccer practice to go collapse on Robb’s bed. The bathroom across the hall that they once accidentally flooded after playing ‘Royal Marines’ with toy boats in the bathtub. The whole place is packed full of memories, and he can feel a lump starting to form in his throat.

‘Sansa—‘

A pillow soars into his vision and hits him square over the jaw and Sansa’s giggles pierce his thought process.

‘Got you!’ she screams, delighted. ‘Now can you please stop worrying?’

From there it descends into a full blown pillow fight, something that Jon hasn’t done in years. Jon spends most of the time holding his pillow in front of his face like a shield while Sansa rains down blows on him, getting in a few swipes when he can. By the time they’re done they both collapse onto the bed, pillows abandoned, misshapen and trailing feathers onto the covers next to them. Sansa’s breathing is rapid, still trying not to laugh, and her legs are spread-eagled across his from where she’s simply collapsed.

Jon puts a hand on his chest, feeling his laboured breaths up and down, and smiles. ‘We’ll call it a draw.’

Sansa rolls towards him, but she’s nearer than she thought and instead just collides with his chest,  wrapping a hand across his stomach to steady herself.

‘If you like,’ she says. ‘In the spirit of christmas, we’ll call it that.’

Jon harrumphs out a laugh and Sansa’s hand on his stomach slips, but she keeps it there and doesn’t roll away. Both of them get their breathing back under control until it’s quiet again, quiet breaths in a quiet room.

Until there’s the creak of the stairs and a floorboard outside the room squeaks. Jon freezes. For a split second Sansa looks like she’s going to sit up, but then she doesn’t, she stays put.

There’s a quiet knock that Sansa doesn’t get the chance to reply to and then Cat steps into the room, mugs of coffee in her hand. And this is how she finds them, surrounded by a messed up bed, curled up together.

‘Hey Mom,’ Sansa says, struggling upright. Jon even thinks she’s faking a blush. ’Uh, thanks for the coffee.’

Cat places the mugs down on the side and looks at them, her eyes ever so slightly narrowed, and Jon’s last hope that dinner might be alright dies.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Chrismukkah everyone! I'm theawants on tumblr.


End file.
